


The Last of the Romantics

by EmilianaDarling



Category: Glee
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilianaDarling/pseuds/EmilianaDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel has always wanted romance. Now that he has Blaine, he's practically giddy with excitment over finally landing the boy of his dreams. But sometimes getting exactly what you want can prove to be more than you can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of the Romantics

**Author's Note:**

> Following in the esteemed fandom tradition, this fic features Dalton Academy as a boarding school. (Because four hours per day is rather a lot of commuting time, and let's not kid ourselves that the uniforms don't look the part anyways.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and please do let me know what you think. <3

Blaine Anderson is everything Kurt Hummel has ever wanted in a boyfriend. He is gentlemanly and charismatic, well-groomed and an amazing singer. He is the kind of boyfriend who sends Kurt apology text messages if he is so much as five minutes late for a date – and he always pays for their evenings out no matter how many token protestations Kurt makes. And, god, is he ever attractive. Slim and dapper, Blaine is all sparkling brown eyes and winning smile and surprisingly well-muscled arms. Aside from a brief infatuation with musical athletes, Blaine is like a conglomeration of every romantic fantasy Kurt has had since he was nine years old.

Every time Blaine holds a door open for him, or calls him just to say goodnight, or smiles at him in that _secret-special-us_ way, Kurt’s stomach flips. Heat rushes into his chest, his fingertips tingle, and Kurt can practically _feel_ his entire body fill with utter certainty. Because here is the boy who has stepped right out of Kurt’s dreams – only now, he is close and warm and wonderful. No longer distant, or uninterested, or unavailable. Kurt’s.

And it’s perfect.

“It reminds you of your mom’s funeral, doesn’t it?”

The small pile of earth is understated compared to the ostentatiously decorated casket it conceals. Kurt feels his gaze dragged up from the ground to stare at Blaine semi-incredulously. The curly-haired boy is still looking contemplatively at Pavarotti’s grave, a look of sympathy and understanding on his face. His thick eyebrows are furrowed together contemplatively.

 _God, who actually_ says _that?_ Kurt catches himself thinking before the notion can be smothered. They’ve only been dating for a few days, and the hurt of the defeat at Regionals is still fresh in Kurt’s mind. He’s already testy, he tells himself. Irritable. Blaine is just trying to be kind.

But the thoughtlessness of the remark still rankles him.

A snide comment and a quick subject change are enough to clear the air, and when they turn and walk away from the clearing Kurt’s stomach is once again doing flip-flops at Blaine’s ‘winning each other’ speech. His hand is tingling at being held so gently, so preciously, by Blaine’s ever-so-slightly rougher one. But the unexpected bluntness of Blaine’s remark still stings at the back of Kurt’s mind.

It makes Kurt profoundly uncomfortable to even begin to entertain negative thoughts about Blaine; as though allowing them to slink into the edges of his mind is enough to poison their relationship, to sully it somehow. Like if he lets any complaints, any pet peeves about his new boyfriend in, it will wither the romance and tarnish long-desired perfection.

But every once in a while, Kurt is able to admit to himself that Blaine sometimes says things or does things that are ever-so-slightly... off. Unusual or unexpected, as though his brain-to-mouth filter is calibrated incorrectly for the world outside of Dalton. As though, separated from a sea of matching blazers and too many smiling faces, Blaine is very much out of place.

It is at this moment that Blaine turns to Kurt, squeezes his hand, and _smiles_ with a perfect combination of infatuation and consolation that makes it impossible for Kurt not to smile back.

“I’m so happy I met you, Kurt Hummel,” says Blaine, voice warm with affection. He is handsome and caring and his eyes are shining with happiness.

And it might as well be seventy-six trombones and a dozen red roses for all it renders Kurt utterly aflutter.

\--

Friday night dinners at the Hummel residence have always been quasi-ritualistic in nature, and the addition of Carole and Finn Hudson to the household has only strengthened their importance. Now with four busy family members instead of two, Burt had declared weeks ago that the need for a special weekly gathering had never been more pressing. Come hell or high water – emergency glee club practice or getting called into work – all four of them were expected to make an appearance for ‘family time’ without fail. The little matter of Kurt now living at boarding school in a town two hours away was certainly no excuse for his absence.

Consequently, Kurt makes the two hour drive from Westerville to Lima every Friday afternoon. He generally stays until Saturday evening or Sunday morning; the last day of weekend is designated as ‘catching up on homework’ time in the peace and quiet of his dorm room. After a long period of whining and cajoling, his fellow Warblers have come to grudgingly accept that no, Kurt will never be available to attend end-of-the-week parties or practices, no matter how much steam they might potentially blow off. And although Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs at his dad’s insistence with the rest of his classmates, he is secretly grateful for the excuse it provides him to regularly return to Lima. Living alone with his dad for years has granted them a closeness that cannot fully be described to an outsider, and suddenly finding himself two hours away from the nearest fatherly hug was a shock to his system at first.

Plus, the year’s prior events have made remarkable argument for spending as much time with loved ones as possible. Just in case.

“Here we are!” exclaims Kurt cheerily, pocketing his keys as the front door swings open. “Chez Hudmel, now accepting guest lodgers for a limited time only.”

“I can’t believe your dad actually invited me to Friday night dinner,” says Blaine, hefting Kurt’s vintage-style one-night suitcase over the threshold. His own small backpack is slung over one shoulder. “I’m fairly certain I should feel honoured. Or perhaps intimidated.”

“Either of those emotions would likely fair you well,” admits Kurt impishly, hanging up his light grey jacket on the hallway coat rack. “I suggest a healthy combination of fear and gratitude in order to survive the ordeal.”

Blaine winces, lowering Kurt’s suitcase to the ground and turning to close the door behind them. “I suspect I didn’t make the best possible impression with your dad,” he admits, beginning to unfurl his long red scarf.

“Admittedly, finding you lying in his son’s bed with a massive hangover wasn’t _quite_ the introduction I would have chosen. And the awkward sex talk soon afterward may not have sent out the right message.”

His boyfriend groans miserably as he hangs his scarf and coat on the rack next to Kurt’s. He then tilts his head backward and lets out a sigh in a show of great wretchedness. “Again, not my smoothest move on record.”

Laughing softly, both boys remove their shoes and place them on the rubber matt by the door. When Kurt turns back toward his boyfriend, knee-high black boots safely off, he is struck afresh by how very different Blaine looks in civilian clothes compared to his Dalton uniform. He looks... _exposed_ somehow. Unwound. Even his posture slightly less stiff than when he is at school. Blaine’s hair is even beginning to curl after the long drive, despite the large amount of gel that generally keeps it in place.

 _Mmmm,_ thinks Kurt. Because the slightly ruffled casual look is _working_ for him. Blaine’s long black-sleeved shirt is practically sleepwear compared to his usual level of formality, and the way his on-the-way-to-unruly hair curls around his ears is... rather appealing. Blaine catches his eye and smiles, stepping awkwardly over the suitcase to pull Kurt into a warm embrace. Kurt wraps his own arms around Blaine’s shoulders, letting his eyes fall shut as they stand there in the hallway and breathe.

 _I can feel his heartbeat,_ Kurt thinks distantly, enjoying the feel of his small, compact boyfriend’s arms wrapped securely around his waist.

“Hey, you,” says Blaine, giving him a squeeze.

“Hey,” says Kurt, and he feels his whole body relax into the hug when Blaine starts to rub little circles in his lower back. He groans softly at the touch, leaning into it.

“Feeling the two hour drive?” asks Blaine, to which Kurt replies with a wordless nod and another small groan. It’s not that Blaine is kneading any particularly sore muscles – Kurt tends to carry tension mostly in his shoulders. It is the fact that Blaine’s hands are there at all that is currently rendering Kurt both speechless and boneless. It feels intimate in a quiet, tender way.

“Wait, where is everyone?” Blaine’s hands stop their movement, almost nervously, and Kurt lets out a small sigh into his boyfriend’s shoulder before pulling away.

“Dad must still be at the garage, and Carole works until five thirty on Fridays,” explains Kurt. “Finn has football practice until about the same time, too, so there won’t be anyone to welcome us for at least an hour. Getting a move on as soon as class ended gave us a bit of a head start.”

“Oh,” says Blaine, glancing down at the backpack and suitcase lying haphazardly in the entrance hallway. “Shall we take these up to your room, then?”

A little fissure of nerves and tentative excitement jolts in Kurt’s stomach.

“I don’t know if my dad will actually let you sleep in my bed,” he says, rather weakly. And then mentally kicks himself, because hello. Mood killer.

“We should still get them out of the hallway,” returns Blaine, darting forward to pick up both his and Kurt’s luggage. Before Kurt can protest the action – he really can carry his own suitcase – Blaine is heading up the staircase toward Kurt’s room. With a deep breath and a smile, Kurt follows.

His boyfriend has already placed their bags on the bedroom floor by the time Kurt makes it up to his bedroom. There is a long moment where the two of them pause and stare at each other, standing unmoving in Kurt’s immaculate bedroom. But then they are both moving forward, and then they are kissing.

Blaine’s hands are sliding into Kurt’s styled hair – he should care that it’s going to be unfixable, but he just can’t manage to get upset about it – and their bodies pressing together, and this is _good._ This is _amazing,_ all soft lips and warm mouths, kissing like the two teenage boys they are. Kurt is still learning, hands ghosting awkwardly over his boyfriend’s sides. But Blaine’s hands are both gentle and firm as they comb through Kurt’s hair, his body both solid and encouraging. Kurt can hear himself making small desperate noises as Blaine kisses him, mouth hot and wanting.

Despite essentially living together at Dalton, they haven’t had too many opportunities to be truly intimate together since their relationship took a romantic turn. They don’t sleep in the same dorm, and both of their rooms are occupied by three or four other boys. Finding time to be do more than steal kisses in the hallways or at the coffee shop has been difficult, in no way aided by Burt’s hesitancy in allowing Blaine to stay the night and Blaine’s discomfort in his own family home.

Also – if he wants to be honest with himself, which he grudgingly admits is often a good idea – Kurt has been reticent to pursue the sexual side of his and Blaine’s relationship. Kurt has always sought and fantasized about romance; but the practical physicality of _being_ with another boy is still unfamiliar. They’ve kissed, and cuddled, and even managed a few light make out sessions. But Kurt has still had a difficult time letting go, a difficult time allowing himself to show sensuality without feeling guilty or awkward. It is one thing to acknowledge that you are attracted to a certain gender; it is quite another to actively pursue a carnal relationship with someone.

But Kurt doesn’t feel reticent now. This is _amazing,_ and unbelievably sexy, and god, _they’re only kissing._

Blaine seems to have realized the same thing, because his boyfriend is starting to walk slowly backward toward the large bed, body leading Kurt along. The kiss doesn’t stop as they walk, noses bumping awkwardly with the movement, but still so _good_ , still so _desperate._ When Blaine bumps into the bed, he lowers himself into a lying position, moving a firm hand to Kurt’s back in order to pull him along. A small amount of positioning later, and Blaine is lying on his back and Kurt is straddling him, leaning down so that their mouths can still press together in hasty kisses.

Vaguely, he realizes that Blaine’s hips are angled awkwardly for their current position. When he realizes why, he feels his face burn and lets out a small, involuntary noise. Blaine takes it for encouragement, pressing kisses along Kurt’s jaw line before reaching of Kurt’s neck. Kurt gasps at the sensation of Blaine’s lips ghosting along the sensitive skin, crying out involuntarily when Blaine bites down gently and begins to suck. Kurt he lets out a small, breathy moan as Blaine’s hands slide up under his shirt to splay across his back.

 _Bzzzz. Bzzzz._

They jolt apart from each other sharply at the unexpected noise, and it takes them both a moment to realize that Kurt’s cell phone is going off in his pocket. Both of their breath is coming hard, uneven. Kurt hesitates, unsure of the proper protocol.

“Go ahead and answer it,” says Blaine, as though able to read Kurt’s mind. He looks like he’s trying to compose himself, which only works so well with his faced flushed and his hips still angled awkwardly. Kurt smiles gratefully, then shimmies the phone out of his jeans pocket while carefully extricating himself from his position. Answering his cell phone while straddling his boyfriend seems like a weird thing to do, and it’s probably decried in a Ms. Manners handbook somewhere anyways. Settling himself next to Blaine on the bed, he opens his phone, sees it is a text message.

 _Hey buddy so excited to have you for the whole weekend! Will be home @ 6 – have to stop into the doctors for a checkup on my way home from the garage. Dad._

Kurt stares at the text. The sexy, exciting atmosphere of only moments before is suddenly gone. A feeling of dull unease is beginning to grow in his stomach.

“Kurt? What’s wrong?”

 _Damn it._ He curses his own face for being so damned expressive, for showing every thought and feeling and emotion as clearly as if they were written in flashing neon letters. Kurt coughs delicately in an attempt to make the tight feeling in his throat go away. “It’s nothing,” he says, but he can hear the tremble in his own voice and oh, god.

Apparently the denial is exactly as unconvincing as Kurt suspects it to be, because now Blaine is sitting up and turning to face him, thick eyebrows pulled together in an unmistakable expression of concern. “Kurt?” he says, voice tentative but somehow strong, too. He reaches over and places a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt’s eyes are starting to sting persistently; he blinks them once, twice, three times.

“It... it really is nothing, just –” Kurt inhales sharply, a sob threatening to break loose. “I’m just so scared for my dad sometimes, you know?” He feels a hot wetness on his cheek. “I mean, it’s always like this now that I don’t live at home full-time. I’ll go for days – _days,_ Blaine – without thinking about his medication, or cooking without salt, or the way he looked in the hospital room. And then –” He chokes on the words, bottom lip trembling. “A-and then I’ll just _remember,_ and it’s like it’s happening all over again. And I don’t know what I’d do if he died, Blaine, I just –”

Kurt can’t speak anymore, words lost to shaky breaths. He closes his eyes, and now tears are rolling slowly down his face. Blaine wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Kurt curls into him.

“Oh, Kurt, it’s okay. It’s _okay_.” Blaine’s hand is rubbing gentle circles on Kurt’s clothed upper arm; he presses a gentle kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. Holds him tight, and warm, and safe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Kurt’s breathing is just beginning to calm when Blaine pulls away from the embrace; he starts when he feels a hand along his face, gently cradling his jaw. Kurt opens his eyes and Blaine is right in front of him, staring at Kurt’s face as though captivated. There is a slightly odd look in his eyes; fixed and focused, as though Kurt is the most beautiful and mysterious creature alive.

“You’re so beautiful when you cry,” he mumbles, then leans forward and begins pressing a series of kisses over Kurt’s face. They are reverent, worshipful. Warm lips press against his forehead, the corner of his eye, his cheek. “So gorgeous, Kurt. My Kurt. Like you would break if I touched you.”

Blaine’s mouth is on his now, firm and hot and salty with the taste of Kurt’s tears. He opens Kurt’s mouth with his own, tongue sliding inside and claiming, taking. The curly-haired boy’s weight is heavy against his side, hand still firm along Kurt’s jaw; holding him in place, keeping him close.

Kurt’s insides roil. Confusion, arousal, and a dim note of hurt war with each other until finally, tentatively, he begins to kiss back. Blaine _groans,_ rolls on top of Kurt so that their bodies are lined up and his weight is fully on top of him. So much contact, bodies splayed together while Blaine’s tongue slides deep into his mouth.

“So beautiful,” Blaine murmurs again between warm, wet kisses, and Kurt can feel something hard pressing against his thigh. He shudders helplessly beneath Blaine as his boyfriend kisses, and touches, and moves his hand down to stroke Kurt’s side through the thin fabric of his shirt.

A door shuts downstairs, and Carole’s shouted greeting is enough to make Blaine break away. He smiles down at Kurt, kisses his nose softly, and clambers off of the bed. His boyfriend raises a hand to help Kurt up.

“Shall we attempt to have me make a good first impression on at least one of your parents?” he asks playfully, and Kurt forces a small smile as he takes Blaine’s hand.

They head out the door and down the stairs to greet Carole, Blaine already standing straighter. He looks composed. Dapper. Preparing to be agreeable and polite and make small talk with his boyfriend’s new stepmother for the rest of the evening.

And Kurt cannot help but feel that Blaine’s whispered, desperate words had not been what he’d needed to hear at all.

\--

Apparently, Blaine has trouble dealing with more than just his brain-to-mouth filter outside of Dalton. Senseless displays of poorly-thought out violence are also a pressing issue.

“What on earth were you thinking tonight, Blaine?” Kurt asks, voice slightly irritable to his own ears, as they drive through downtown Lima on their way home after the McKinley charity concert. It’s a long drive back to Dalton, and the sky is already long dark. Rain is pounding persistently against the windshield, and he has turned the wipers to high in a feeble attempt to combat the onslaught.

Kurt chances a look at Blaine in the passenger’s seat – there really aren’t that many cars on the road in a small town after ten o’clock – and catches his boyfriend’s look of blinking confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Blaine starts, appearing unsure. “I _wanted_ to come to the show, remember? And Mercedes did an amazing –”

“I don’t mean the show, I mean the – the psycho, ‘hands-off-my-man’ vibe you were giving off all evening.” At Blaine’s blank look, Kurt sighs and continues. “Blaine, you _shoved Karofsky._ Karofsky, who spent the better part of my high school career thus far making my life a living hell by physically harassing me. Who has about a _hundred pounds_ on you. Who – do you even realize how _badly_ that could have ended if Santana hadn’t come along?”

“He insulted you.” Blaine’s voice is very quiet now, very precise. Even with both eyes mostly on the road, Kurt can see the tension in Blaine’s frame, the way his hands are clenched in his lap. “He used to _threaten_ you – Kurt, I don’t understand why you’re upset about this.”

“Because he could have really _hurt_ you, Blaine.” An image of Blaine sprawled on the hallway floor, hands raised above his head and blood streaming down his face, comes unbidden into Kurt’s mind. Of himself trying desperately to hold Karofsky’s arm back mid-punch, too small and _not strong enough_ to stop it from happening. A shiver threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. Sits up straighter in the driver’s seat instead, puffing himself up slightly. “And because that’s just not how you handle that crap in a place like McKinley. Not when you’re –” _Like us_ , he wants to finish. “— not a Neolithic jock.”

Blaine is turning to face him in his seat now, seatbelt extending as he shifts. His dark eyes are crackling with frustration, incomprehension. “I don’t see why _I_ should feel guilty for trying to defend my _boyfriend_ against someone who used to hurt him.”

“But it wasn’t just Karofsky!” says Kurt, the worry and annoyance he had repressed so successfully during the performance rising to the surface. Gaining momentum. “You practically bit Sandy Ryerson’s head off when we came back from intermission, and he wasn’t even being rude to me specifically.” Kurt had always imagined that having another person on his side – prepared to defend him unquestioningly – would feel powerful, gloat-worthy. Instead, it had felt ever-so-subtly belittling. “I felt like I should have had you on a _leash_ all night.”

Kurt glances sideways, and the look of hurt on Blaine’s face makes him immediately regret the blunt wording. With a sigh, Kurt continues. “I’m sorry, it’s just... I know that I was a complete mess when we first met, and that you’ve only really known me while my life’s been insane and unpredictable. But Blaine, I went to McKinley for years. I dealt with all of the crap there, and I did it almost entirely by myself. I know I look it, but I’m not _actually_ breakable. I can take care of myself.”

There is a long, drawn-out pause. After a few moments, the gentle weight of Blaine’s hand on his knee is unexpected, but pleasant. They’re now driving along a long, deserted road. Kurt glances down – the soft grey and green of their jackets perfectly complement each other – before looking up at Blaine’s face. The tension is gone, now, and his eyes are much softer than before.

“I’m sorry, beautiful. You’re completely right; of course you can take care of yourself. I didn’t mean to weird you out or anything. It’s just...” Blaine takes a deep breath, and there is real emotion in his voice when he speaks again. “Having you at that school again, where things were so bad for you for so long, it just... put my hackles up, I guess.” He laughs softly, hand squeezing Kurt’s knee tenderly. “It just took me so long to see what was right in front of my face, you know? To see what a gorgeous, brilliant, sexy guy you are. To see that you’re the only one for me.”

And, _oh._ That hits Kurt right in the gut, and his next breath is somewhat uneven. His hands on the steering wheel tighten slightly. To be wanted – and to be wanted by someone as kind and attractive and sought-after and wonderful as _Blaine_ – seemed inconceivable for so very long. The reality of being with someone who cares about him in such a profound way is unexpected, providential.

Perfect.

Blaine is still speaking. “It was just hard to see you in such a hateful environment. I want to keep you safe, Kurt. I want you happy and out of harm’s way. I can’t just stop myself from feeling this way about you.” He smiles bravely, giving Kurt’s knee one last squeeze. “Forgive me?”

And Kurt’s heart melts.

“Of course,” says Kurt, exhaling. He laughs, breaking the tension. “Of course I forgive you. It was silly of me to get so worked up. I suppose being at McKinley put me a little on the defensive, as well.”

“For sure,” says Blaine, and he leans over and presses a warm kiss to Kurt’s cheek, straining against the seatbelt to do so. He leans his head against Kurt’s shoulder for a moment, although the position can’t be an overly comfortable one. Kurt breathes in deeply, the subtle smell of freshly-laundered clothes and hair product and _Blaine_ making him feel so entirely safe, and cared about, and special.

Finally Blaine pulls away, grinning. “How’s about a little Katie Perry for the road?” He reaches below his seat and pulls out an iPod and an auxiliary cord from his bag.

“Oh, _no_ ,” moans Kurt, but they are both laughing. They spend the rest of the drive back to Dalton playfully debating music, criticizing vocalists, and talking about the evening’s performance in turns. Blaine’s hand skims across Kurt’s knee every few minutes, each time making warm shivers run up Kurt’s spine.

\--

“What do you _mean_ , you’re going back?” demands Blaine, standing up suddenly and leaving Kurt perched by himself at the foot of the bed. His voice is loud and incredulous in the empty dorm room.

Kurt winces. Already, the conversation is going worse than he’d hoped. He’d taken special care in planning the evening out beforehand; he’d even asked all three of his roommates to steer clear for a few hours so they could have some privacy. A niggling voice at the back of his mind had warned him that Blaine might require some special consideration. He was his boyfriend, after all, and Kurt hadn’t expected him to be _happy_ , per se, about his imminent transfer back to McKinley. But regardless of all of Blaine’s insistence that he wanted what was best for him, that Kurt’s safety was the most important factor, somehow Kurt is unsurprised by the explosion of emotion.

As he looks at the frantic expression on Blaine’s face, it occurs to Kurt that despite the history of bullying, despite the distant father, Blaine is still a privileged young man who is accustomed to getting what he wants. The thought is vague, fleeting. Unimportant compared to the show of anxiety on his boyfriend’s face.

Blaine looks nothing like the caring, supportive boy who had sat next to him in the Lima Bean only a few days ago. He looks slightly wild. Absently, Blaine rakes a hand through his gelled hair, ruining its immaculacy.

Kurt sighs. “We’ve talked about this, Blaine,” he says, words slow and purposeful. “You told me you would be fine with me going back to McKinley as long as I could be safe there. And I really do think the danger’s passed. When we were getting coffee with my friends, you even said –”

“Yeah, well, I –” interjects Blaine, cutting him off before swallowing heavily. He is shifting in place uneasily, as though he would like to pace back and forth and is barely restraining himself. “I didn’t think you’d actually...”

“Blaine,” says Kurt. “I miss McKinley. I do. Yes, it was very hard for me there for a long time, but I have so many friends there that I really, really miss.” He laughs suddenly, fondly. “Well. And a few hair-raising diva competitors and poorly-dressed acquaintances, but...”

Blaine is looking at him as though he has gone insane.

“You’re willing to risk your own personal safety because you _miss_ a few people? Because – because you want to walk to home room with your friends?” Contempt and disbelief are practically dripping from his Blaine’s words now. “Kurt, you can _visit_ them. You already spend weekends in Lima. And we have no idea of knowing whether Karofsky is telling the truth, or if he’s playing everyone, or – _Jesus_ , Kurt.”

A spark of irritation rises in Kurt’s chest. Yes, he expected concern, but he’s not a _child_.

“Karofsky’s on a pretty short leash right now,” he spits out, rising to his feet to stand in front of Blaine with his back to the bed. “And I told you, they’re implementing an anti-bulling policy. You _know_ how much that means to me, how much I believe in it. It was Dalton’s own policy that made this place a safe haven in the first place.”

For a moment, Blaine looks at a loss. Then he recovers. “What about all the money your family spent sending you here? Your dad –”

“— is getting a partial refund because of the extenuating circumstances and because I’m not finishing the semester here.”

And now Kurt is almost positive he isn’t imagining the panic in Blaine’s eyes now. He feels a stab of regret; it had never been his intention to make Blaine belligerent or upset. Going back to McKinley was just... necessary. It had never been a question of _if_ ; it had always been one of _when_ , if only in Kurt’s own mind.

But the nervous energy radiating off of his boyfriend is almost palpable, and Kurt takes advantage of Blaine’s speechlessness. He steps forward and puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, the material of his Dalton blazer slightly coarse under Kurt’s hands. They are both still in uniform.

“Blaine,” says Kurt, “you know I adore being at Dalton. The zero-tolerance policy, the Warblers, you... it’s been amazing here.” He takes a deep breath. “But McKinley let me express myself in ways I just _can’t_ here. Dalton is smothering me. The sea of matching blazers, owning three of the same tie... it’s just not me. And I miss being able to express myself through glee club, too. There’s so much less emphasis on procedure there; so much more focus on showcasing yourself and your emotions.” _Plus I have a better chance at getting solos there than here, and that’s saying something,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say the last part out loud.

“I just have so much unfinished business there,” Kurt continues. “And besides – we’ll have afternoons and weekends, right? It won’t be so bad.”

There is a long pause. Kurt notices that his boyfriend is less twitchy under his hands. Blaine glances away, and for a minute Kurt think he sees something... _assessing_ in his dark brown eyes. It’s gone in an instant, though, and replaced so quickly by a deep, deep sadness that Kurt thinks he must have imagined it. Blaine blinks. He licks his lips, and then looks up at Kurt through thick lashes.

“Don’t you love me, Kurt?”

The words are like a slap in the face. “What?” Kurt asks, stunned.

Blaine steps forward, hands coming up to rest ever-so-lightly on either side of Kurt’s face. His eyes are shining slightly.

“Because I love you.” There it is again, that word. Small, and simple, and full of so much significance that it hurts Kurt’s heart. It is a new word; raw and untested. “I love you so, so much, and I want you to be safe more than anything. But...” Blaine trails off, blinking furiously. One of his thumbs is tracing some unknowable pattern against Kurt’s jaw as he speaks; the touch is unthinking, instinctive. “But I _just found you_ , Kurt. I’ve been looking for you my whole life, and now you’re _leaving_ me.”

Shocked regret floods Kurt’s chest. “Blaine,” he begins unevenly. “Blaine, I’m not _leaving_ you. I –”

“But you _are_!” Blaine’s hands slide down to Kurt’s shoulders, gripping them tight. “You – you came into my life and made it _better_ , Kurt. Everything – classes, the Warblers. Even coffee tastes better with you to enjoy it with.” He laughs softly, bitterly. “And I thought – I really thought that being here with me at Dalton was a big, important thing for you. And now you want to throw it all away?”

“I’m not – Blaine, I’m not –”

But his boyfriend is coming closer now, sliding a hand up to the back of Kurt’s neck. Blaine gently guides his head down until their foreheads are touching. They are standing so close they are breathing each other’s air. Kurt can feel by the heat in his face that he’s flushed, feels his tongue dart out and lick his lips nervously.

“I need to know that you love me, Kurt.” Blaine’s mouth is inches away from Kurt’s own, and he can feel the heat of his breath against the dampened skin. “I need to know if you go back to McKinley, you’ll still care about me more than _anything_. I just – I need _you_.”

Blaine’s eyelashes are glistening, and Kurt thinks about how _new_ this all is. How he’d almost given up on Blaine by the time the curly-haired boy had finally kissed him. About the fact that he _moves_ Blaine now. Moves him and Blaine _loves_ him, he _said_ so. He thinks of how they haven’t even made it past making out yet, but the other day the two of them had been sitting with Wes and David and Blaine had said ‘when we graduate, Kurt and I’ and how on earth is this going so quickly?

He thinks of Blaine. His bright smile, his gentle hands. The warmth that fills Kurt up whenever he does something selfless, or kind, or caring. The way he looks at Kurt like he is everything, everything that matters.

The love in his eyes.

“Of course I do,” Kurt hears himself say. There is a pause, and he swallows. “I love you, Blaine.”

The words feel thick on his tongue, but the look of relief and delight on Blaine’s face makes them worthwhile. The shorter boy leans forward and kisses him, hand firm on Kurt’s neck. It’s heated, and hungry, and _oh god_ Kurt is glad he asked his roommates to stay away for the rest of the evening. He kisses back as best he can; he wants to touch Blaine so badly. To hold Blaine tight in his arms and savour this most important of new words.

He makes a small noise and moves to raise a hand to rest on Blaine’s waist, but the other boy _growls_ in response. Blaine holds him tight and steps forward once, twice, and Kurt has no choice but to move with him until the back of his calves hit the end of the bed. Kurt stumbles and begins to fall, but Blaine is there to hold him, to lower him firmly but gently onto the standard-issue sheets.

“Love you so much,” whispers Blaine, crawling on top of Kurt and beginning to unbutton the large brass buttons of his blazer. “So much, and I just want you to be safe. You know that, don’t you?” The navy blue jacket is undone now, and Blaine is gently pushing the fabric to either side of Kurt’s chest as though opening a present. Then, he begins to loosen Kurt’s tie.

“Blaine,” inhales Kurt, and the word is breathier and more uneven than he’d intended. His boyfriend leans up and captures his lips in a searing kiss, hot and wet and marked with teeth. Kurt gasps when he breaks away, and barely notices as Blaine pulls the loosened tie over his head. Kurt’s head is swimming by the time Blaine’s hands ghost over the small buttons of his white button-up, but the action makes him stiffen nonetheless.

 _This is too fast,_ he thinks as Blaine’s dexterous fingers begin to work. Exposing him bit by bit: first his stomach, then his chest. He wants to ask Blaine to slow down, to tell his boyfriend that he’s just not ready yet – but the look of pure need on Blaine’s face makes the words catch in his throat. When Blaine’s fingers reach the top button, he tilts his head back in order to grant him access – and then the shirt is falling open, leaving him defenceless and so, so exposed.

Blaine lets out a shaky, desperate sound at the sight of Kurt’s naked chest. All at once he’s leaning forward, and his lips are on Kurt’s neck while one hand trails lightly down the bare skin of his lean stomach. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Blaine’s hand is ever-so-slightly darker, a contrast against the white-pale of Kurt’s own skin. He gasps as he feels Blaine’s teeth bite down firmly below his jaw, and he reaches one hand up to clench in the fabric of Blaine’s blazer. Blaine is still fully clothed, he realizes, before crying out and _squirming_ as Blaine begins to suckle and tease at the spot on his neck.

He gasps because it feels _good_ , and intimate, and because Blaine knows where to touch him to make his hands clench and his body twist helplessly. After a few moments his boyfriend releases the sensitive skin and begins to trail warm, wet kisses down his neck, his chest, until Blaine’s tongue swipes over his nipple.

“Ah!” he cries out, and the sensation of Blaine’s teeth grazing over the hardening skin makes him bite down hard on his lip to prevent more such needy sounds from escaping.

Abruptly, he becomes aware of Blaine’s hand on his zipper. Kurt stiffens, jolts back to himself. Places a hand against Blaine’s chest and pushes him away feebly.

“Blaine,” he chokes out. “Blaine, I don’t think I’m – I’m just not –”

“ _Shhhh._ ” Blaine moves back in to run his tongue over Kurt’s swollen lower lip, then kisses him chastely once, twice. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.” His hand begins to move again on Kurt’s pants, slowly unbuttoning the fly and pulling the zipper down. “ ‘m always going to take care of you.”

And then he is reaching into Kurt’s pants, his briefs, and pulling him out and _oh god, oh god_ – Blaine’s hand is wrapped around his cock.

Kurt’s hand flies to cover his mouth and he throws his head back, keening into his palm as Blaine’s warm hand begins to move up and down. He’s already hard – hard and wanting, he _wants_ this, he does – and no one has ever touched him there but himself. This... this is so much different than masturbating. Each movement of Blaine’s hand is a shock, every increase of pressure making him inhale sharply. When Blaine swipes his thumb over the head of Kurt’s cock, he can’t stop his hips from stuttering at the shock of sensation that leaves him weak and wanting for more.

He’s shaking, stammering. Each stroke feels as though his boyfriend is peeling back another layer of veneer; like Blaine is cutting him open and seeing what’s inside. He is still wearing most of his clothes, but it doesn’t matter as long as Blaine doesn’t stop moving and touching and _knowing_ all of him. Dimly, he realizes that Blaine is shifting, but it isn’t until he hears the sound of Blaine’s zipper than he realizes exactly what is happening.

The comprehension makes his stomach bottom out and his body grow rigid. Kurt doesn’t know if Kurt wants... _that_ , or something else, but he’s not ready for any of this regardless. Knows he isn’t ready at all. He raises his eyes to Blaine’s to tell him – to say they need to stop, to calm down.

But Blaine’s face – oh, god, his face. It is a picture of disbelieving desperation, his face flushed and breath coming too quickly. It is as though he has been given everything he has ever wanted, ever dared to dream of having, on a silver platter. His hand stutters and slows on Kurt’s cock.

“God, Kurt,” he says, shuddering. “I want you so badly.”

Kurt shuts his eyes as heat washes over him, up him. Being wanted... being _desired_ by someone like Blaine... it feels heady, amazing. After so many years of being alone, of being told he was wrong and broken, the feeling is unprecedented. After pursuing Blaine so intensely and being rebuked at every turn, being _needed_ by him feels just as good as the up-down slide of Blaine’s hand around him.

He can do this, he realizes. Blaine needs him. Wants him.

Needs Kurt to show him that he _loves_ him.

“Okay,” breathes Kurt. Blaine smiles at him shakily, then unzips his fly and pulls his cock out of his pants. It’s hard, and dark, and thicker than Kurt is expecting – jutting out from amid a sea of dark hair and navy school uniform. The subtle ways in which it differs from Kurt’s own cock surprise him vaguely, although he supposes they shouldn’t. He stares at it for a long moment, feeling surreal and removed. Then Blaine reaches over, grasps Kurt’s hand, and manually wraps Kurt’s fingers around him.

The cock is heavy in his hand, and it takes Kurt a moment to begin; he’s uncertain, doesn’t want to embarrass himself with his inexperience. But when he begins to move – slowly, tentatively – Blaine _groans_ and thrusts weakly into Kurt’s hand. His breath is coming harder than ever, uneven. Encouraged, Kurt tightens his grip and begins to establish a slow, steady pace. His boyfriend’ ministrations redouble, making Kurt cry out and his hand stutter. Lying here on his dorm room bed, the large room narrowed down to one tiny point, while he and his boyfriend jerk each other off is utterly unreal.

And Blaine’s hand is still moving, stoking – squeezing the head of Kurt’s cock and making him groan, turn his face into the sheets, and lose his rhythm. There is a delicious pressure building at the base of his spine, and Kurt tries to keep stroking Blaine but it’s so hard, so impossible when the whole world is narrowing down to Blaine’s hand on him, and his whole body is clenching, and Blaine twists his wrist just _so_ , and –

And Kurt is coming, gasping for air, the impact of the release hitting him as it has never done before. It’s _good_ , so good, and his mind is whiting out around the edges as the pleasure pumps through him and his toes curl. Blaine’s hand keeps moving, stoking him through it, until Kurt hears a loud groan and realizes that Blaine must be coming, too. There is a wet heat on Kurt’s hand.

He opens his eyes in time to see Blaine shudder as his orgasm ends, to see his cock pulse one last time over Kurt’s long, pale fingers. There is a splash of something white on Kurt’s blazer cuff, and Kurt shivers into the silence of the room.

A few moments later Blaine leans down and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek, then his lips, carefully avoiding Kurt’s stomach and their sticky hands.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, then reaches over to grab a handful of tissues from the box on Kurt’s dresser. Blaine cleans them both up as Kurt lies sprawled on the sheets, silent and breathless in his disarray; his blazer and button-up flung open and pants unbuttoned. He feels... dreamlike. Slightly numb. After they’re both passably tidied – though Kurt can still feel the stickiness on his stomach and hand – Blaine walks over to his dresser and brings back two pairs of Kurt’s pyjamas. The sight makes him blink, shake himself. Come back to himself a bit.

“You’re not really allowed to sleep here with me,” Kurt points out, staring pointedly at the two sets of sleep clothes. One pair is decidedly fancier than the other. The first – a designer cream-and-brown set –make the very, very old plaid pants and loose long-sleeved shirt look even grungier than they are. “And the legs are definitely going to be too long for you.”

“I know,” says Blaine, apparently in response to both questions. They change in silence, and Kurt keeps his back turned even though it really shouldn’t matter anymore. He’s feels exhausted, worn out and eyes slamming shut – both from the high emotion of the fight as well as what it led to. Blaine peels back the sheets and crawls underneath, holding them tented for Kurt to do the same. After going and turning off the main dorm light, Kurt does so. They lie so that Kurt’s back is pressed right up against Blaine’s stomach, one of his arms draped over Kurt’s torso. His face is nestled in the back of Kurt’s neck, breath tickling the short hairs there.

Kurt is almost asleep, drifting on the edge of consciousness when Blaine’s voice breaks the silence.

“Kurt?” he whispers, lips so close to Kurt’s ear that the words are perfectly audible.

“Mmm?”

“I trust you. If you say you’ll be safe at McKinley, I do believe you. I’m... I’m sorry about before.” Here, Blaine’s arm squeezes Kurt gently. “I just get so _worried_ about you. But you’re right; I trust your judgement, and we’ll have after school and weekends to be together. We’ll just have to make those times count, right?” He laughs, softly. “And maybe invest in larger texting packages.”

Kurt makes a small committal noise and feels himself relax into Blaine’s embrace. It’s warm here, and comfortable, and Blaine is happy for him. It feels good.

There is a long pause before Blaine’s voice comes from the darkness again. “I love you, Kurt,” he says, certain and determined, but with a hint of nervousness wavering in his voice.

“... I love you, too,” whispers Kurt, the words strange and new on his tongue. But... nice. Important.

He falls asleep that way, in Blaine’s arms.

  
A week later, Blaine brings the Warblers to McKinley to serenade him farewell. It’s beautiful, and grandiose, and it makes Kurt’s heart sing and his breath catch at how very, very lucky he is. It is better than a scene from a movie.

Blaine smiles, and holds him close, and Kurt tells him he will never say goodbye.

\--

“Oh, my sweet Lord,” says Kurt conspiratorially, leaning forward and swirling his passion fruit and guava smoothie with a straw. “Could you even _believe_ what she was wearing at the awards show? I mean, girl, you got a set of lungs on you. But that dress with those shoes? And that... _shawl_ contraption?” He shudders. “Disaster.”

Mercedes throws back her head and laughs, hearty and full. It attracts a few sideways glances, but the onlookers quickly look away. The mall food court is bustling with dozens of boisterous students, all piled onto tables and shouting and laughing. There are far more interesting things to watch than the two friends talking quietly by themselves.

“Seriously,” adds Mercedes, wiping a tear from her eye. “All that yellow, she looked like a bit of an umber-ella-ella-ella herself, yeah?”

The jibe sets them off again. Still chuckling a few moments later, Kurt takes a sip of his smoothie and Mercedes skewers a tater tot with a plastic fork. The silence while they partake of their lunch is comfortable, pleasant. Familiar. Kurt had tried his best to see Mercedes frequently while he was going to Dalton – she’s his best friend, closest confidante, and fellow follower of musical starlet fashion nightmares. But there is nothing quite like the level of closeness that can be maintained when you see someone every single day in class, in the halls, in the mall for afterschool hangouts. It’s difficult to replicate.

Mercedes seems to be thinking something similar, because once his friend has finished her bite she reaches over and places her hand over his. The contrast between their hands – elongated and pale, compact and dark – is highlighted by the garish purple of the food court table tops.

“I’m so glad you’re back, boo. McKinley just wasn’t the same without you, you know?” Her smile is warm and all-encompassing, and it makes him want to grin right back. He knows that he made the right choice in returning, but it’s nice to have it validated by someone whose opinion he trusts.

“Oh, I know,” Kurt replies in a flip tone, before he softens and gives her hand a squeeze.”It’s good to be back, ‘Cedes.”

His phone takes the opportunity to interrupt their Kodak moment, buzzing insolently in his pants pocket. Kurt shoots her a grin and breaks their handhold to check it, having to raise his hips off the chair in order to work it out of the pocket.

 _So excited for our date tonight! What do you want to do? - xoxBlaine_

Kurt smiles as he reads the message, heart fluttering at the tiny ‘xox’ his boyfriend has taken the time to type out in front of his name. It’s unnecessary, and all the more adorable for it. He quickly types back his reply.

 _Why, hello, handsome. Was thinking of perhaps trying out that nice little new French cafe that opened last month. Nice food, nice clothes. A bit of chic and fabulous to go with out escargot? - Kurt_

As he hits the ‘send’ button, he looks up to see a strange look on Mercedes’ face. It seems to be a combination of determined encouragement with a small amount of self-pity. Kurt feels a flash of guilt at disrupting their conversation, but returning to McKinley has its downsides as well as its perks. If he’s going to have to go to school without Blaine, he’ll cling to his right to text his boyfriend twenty times an hour if necessary.

“That your boy?” she asks, as though broaching a topic she has very little interest in discussing. Mercedes and Blaine get on well, but Kurt remembers the soul-crushing loneliness that came with being on your own in a sea of couples.

“Yeah,” he responds, and there is a beat. He mentally grasps at straws for a change of subject. “So... how _did_ that date with Anthony Rashad go, anyways? You never told me all the gritty details.”

Kurt knows he has chosen correctly when Mercedes groans loudly, showy and overblown frustration overpowering any genuine loneliness in her face. She loves a good complaint-fest.

“Oh, where do I even begin?” She flings her hand out in a dismissive gesture. “First of all, you know you’re in for a hell of a time when your date shows up with flowers... that still have the roots attached.”

“ _No_!”

“Mmmhmm. Clumps of dirt on them and everything.”

She launches into the story of the disastrous first date with aplomb, and when Kurt’s phone buzzes on the table he reaches up and snakes it down to sit on his lap. It is a few minutes before he’s able to check it covertly while Mercedes is describing the first of the many migraine-inducing things Anthony Rashad had said to their waitress.

 _I was kinda thinking of catching Burlesque while it’s still in theatres. It IS a long drive down just for dinner, right? I seem to recall a nice Japanese place we could go to right across the street from the theatre, too! - xoxBlaine_

Kurt stares at the text for longer than is strictly advisable, rereading the small black letters on the screen. There is a strange feeling building up inside of him, one that he can’t quite find the words to convey.

It isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to see Burlesque. He does; oh, does he ever. The opportunity to gush over how fabulous Cher still manages to be while reminiscing about growing up to the music of Christina Aguilera is just too good to pass up. Plus, the costumes and dance numbers look amazing. But despite this fact, the text message manages to rub him the wrong way. Kurt can’t quite put a finger on it.

“Hello, earth to Kurt Hummel!”

The hand waving in front of his face is enough to startle him out of that train of thought.

“What is _up_ with you today, boy?” she asks, looking mildly irritated. “You’re all over the place.”

“I was listening,” insists Kurt, thinking back frenetically. “You were just describing the way he ate the spaghetti when it arrived. Ugh, cutting with a fork and knife? Tacky.”

Looking reassured, Mercedes proceeds to spend the next ten minutes regaling Kurt with tales from her terrible date. The thoughtlessly sexist comments Anthony had made to their waitress, the way he had unknowingly made fun of her denomination without realizing, the way he’d bragged about being happy to be part of something cool (like football) instead of something kinda lame (like glee club). He sighs, and gasps, and shakes his head in disdain at the jock’s atrocious date decorum – and his unpleasant personality.

By the time Mercedes takes a break to eat a few more of her tater tots, Kurt is bristling on her behalf – as well as practically laughing at himself at his overreaction to Blaine’s text message. He rereads it and comes to the conclusion that it is entirely innocent; he’d clearly been projecting some of his own anxiety onto Blaine, which wasn’t fair. Plus, conveying tone and inflection via text message is always tricky. The movie sounds fun, and he enjoys Japanese food. Why get upset over nothing?

He texts back while Mercedes is still occupied: _Why not? That sounds delectable as well. Plus, I’ll probably be in the mood for something small anyways. Grabbing lunch at the mall foodcourt, and even this smoothie is pretty filling. See you at 7:00? :) - Kurt_

Blaine’s response is almost instantaneous.

 _Who are you with?_

Taking a long sip of smoothie – it really is filling, ugh, there’s probably a whole container’s worth of yoghurt in this thing – he texts back a response quickly.

 _Mercedes. Getting to hear all about her faildate with Rashad. Sounds like complete catastrophe. @_@ -Kurt_

His friend begins to talk again – this time about the dessert portion of the date – and Kurt has to force himself to suppress the grin that is attempting to take over his face. Instead, he winces and shakes his head and gasps in all the right places. But having a boyfriend – a real, honest, wonderful and talented _boyfriend_ – is such a novelty compared to Mercedes’ tale of horror that he practically can’t help himself. He’s so lucky to have Blaine, to not have to worry about awful first dates. Or about being alone.

When Blaine’s response comes shortly after, he checks it stealthily under the table.

 _Glad you two are having fun! Love you! - xoxBlaine_

And, smiling, he types back: _Love you, too._

\--

“Mmm,” murmurs Blaine, his fingers stroking through Kurt’s hair absent-mindedly. Kurt moans and leans up into the touch, raising his head off of Blaine’s knee in order to prolong the contact. “The evening worked out all right in the end, in spite of everything. This is nice.”

Kurt nods, and lets out a small, breathy noise as Blaine’s fingers card through his hair again. They’re curled up on a large leather couch in the Anderson family living room, Blaine sitting with Kurt’s head in his lap as a movie plays on a low volume in front of them. It’s not a particularly exciting or engaging film; a popcorn fantasy flick with some nice costumes, it doesn’t take too much effort to follow and the ethereal music is nice to cuddle to. Blaine’s family television is also absurdly large. Bigger than anyone could possibly need, all flat-screen and embedded into the wall. It makes the fantastical ships and swords and oceans appear larger than life.

In some part of Kurt’s mind, he distantly remembers his mother running her fingers through his hair like this when he was sick or upset. He can’t be entirely sure whether the memory is real or constructed, but the feel of Blaine’s fingers stroking through the strands and gently massaging his scalp makes him feel just as safe and protected. Taken care of.

It also just feels _good_ , in a not-so-familial way. Making him arch up into Blaine’s touch and shiver when his fingertips brush the short hairs at the base of Kurt’s neck. Hair-stroking has never seemed to be a particularly sensual act to him before, but the evening is rapidly making him change his stance on that one.

“I really am sorry, though.” The apologetic, self-conscious note is back from before. “I... I really did try to get them here tonight. But then mom had an emergency call about her charity event in New York and had to fly out this afternoon, and dad had that call from Japan about the merger...”

Kurt groans, pushing himself up into a sitting position so as to look Blaine in the eye. The sudden absence of Blaine’s fingers in his hair is distressing, but bearable. “Honest to God, Blaine. If you apologize one more time, I _will_ find every one of your multitude of cardigans and set them all on fire.” He reaches out a hand and squeezes Blaine’s knee, continuing on in a softer tone. “It really is all right. This is nice too, having a whole house to ourselves.”

“I just really wanted them to meet you tonight.” For a moment, Blaine’s face is a portrait of disappointment – before his trademark grin makes a reappearance. His eyes light up. “You’re totally right, though. It _is_ nice to not have to worry about PDA-overloading any friends or parentals.”

“And this _house_. Oh my _god_ , Blaine.” Kurt takes the opportunity to stare shamelessly at the outrageously fancy decor around them. The living room is massive, with real mahogany hardwood floors and a (doubtlessly incredibly expensive) soft maroon area rug in the middle of the room. The furniture is all something out of a design magazine, and the part of the dining room Kurt can see from his position on the couch seems to feature a twelve-person dining table.

“Yeah,” admits Blaine, wincing self-consciously. “It’s... a bit much, really.”

“It’s _incredible_ ,” insists Kurt. “But... it is a bit hard to believe that you actually live here. If that’s okay to say. Oh, god, that’s probably not okay to say.”

“It’s fine. And I don’t, really. Dalton’s more of a home to me now than this place has ever been.” Blaine shrugs, and then gets a wicked look on his face. He leans in and gives Kurt a soft, chaste kiss on the mouth. “But if it impresses my oh-so-discerning boyfriend, at least it’s good for something.”

“Indeed,” agrees Kurt, and he leans in to kiss Blaine again.

It’s slow and languid as they sprawl there together on the ridiculously large couch, relaxed comfortably into one another. They shift so that Blaine is lying on his back, Kurt positioned directly on top of him. The lines of their bodies are snug as their mouths move together, wet and warm and wonderful. Blaine reaches up and strokes a hand through Kurt’s hair, making him whimper into Blaine’s mouth and grind their hips together. Kurt can feel both of them hardening quickly, feels Blaine nip softly at his bottom lip before pushing his tongue deep into Kurt’s willing mouth. The kisses are deep, the heat gradually building between them. Soft lips and playful tongues slide together. The world narrows down to Blaine’s mouth, his body, his hand as it pushes under Kurt’s plaid button-up and trails over the skin hidden underneath.

The feel of Blaine’s tongue caressing his own is enough to make Kurt whine low at the back of his throat and strain into Blaine’s body. He’s beginning to wonder if they should move this to the bedroom – the house may be deserted, but there’s something about the idea of making out with his boyfriend in his doubtlessly extravagant bedroom with no parents at home that is endlessly appealing – when Blaine pulls away, panting slightly.

“Kurt,” he gets out, face flushed. “I need to ask you something.”

“Oh?” asks Kurt, pressing a series of kisses along Blaine’s jaw, his neck. Blaine shivers and inhales sharply, then pushes Kurt away.

“Something important.” Kurt can feel his own face scrunching up in confusion, but he begins to disentangle himself from their position. To his surprise, Blaine’s hand’s slide up and hold tight to Kurt’s back, keeping him in place. He raises an eyebrow, but obligingly remains sprawled on top of the more compact boy, their faces so close together Kurt can feel Blaine’s breath across his still-damp lips. It tingles. Blaine takes a deep breath, and then begins.

“It’s just... I know that you said Karofsky took your first kiss.” Kurt feels himself tense, and Blaine’s hand rubs soothing circles on his back through the fabric of his shirt. “But... you also said ‘first kiss that counted’. It didn’t seem too important at the time, but we’re together now, and... I’ve been thinking about that a lot.” Blaine looks at him, dark brown eyes serious. “I need to know who you’ve been with, Kurt. Whether it was just kissing, or... more than that. I just need to know.”

Kurt feels the laugh bubble up inside him, and it escapes before he can stop himself. The look of hurt on Blaine’s face is enough to curtail any hysterics, and Kurt presses a reassuring kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that there’s really nothing to tell.” He props himself up higher on his elbows. “If you want the whole story: when my dad was spending more and more time with Finn, I tried to force myself to... act straight, I guess. I wanted him to spend time with me, to not be awkward around me anymore. So I brought Brittany over to my house so that he could walk in on us kissing.” Kurt shakes his head. “It took him thirty whole minutes to come in, too. And I wouldn’t let her use tongue, or grab my ass, or anything. It was the most awkward half-hour of my life. That’s what I meant by ‘first kiss that counted’; my first kiss with a boy. Other than that and... and Karofsky...” He swallows. “It’s only ever been you, Blaine.”

The look slowly spreading over Blaine’s face below him is one of shocked delight. As though Christmas has come early, or he’s just been presented with a double-feature to a college football game followed by a Broadway musical.

“You mean... I’m the only one who’s ever...?” At Kurt’s nod, Blaine shudders long and hard. Then he reaches up, grabs the back of Kurt’s neck, and slams their mouths together in a scorching kiss. He growls possessively into Kurt’s mouth, their teeth clacking together. Kurt whines when Blaine drags his hips sharply against Kurt’s, the spark of pleasure it ignites making the world blur and spin around them.

“That’s so hot,” murmurs Blaine against his lips, before sitting up in one swift motion and pushing Kurt against the opposite arm of the couch. Kurt squeaks in surprise, but the feeling of Blaine frantically rubbing up against him is quickly overwhelming his ability to speak. The position is slightly awkward, but he can’t bring himself to care. Blaine is frantically unbuttoning his shirt, fingers shaking as each unfastened button reveals more of Kurt’s pale skin. Kurt glances down, and the sight of Blaine’s hands shaking as he undresses him makes Kurt let out a choked moan. “Can’t believe I’m the first one to ever touch you like this, my beautiful. You’re so hot. So _mine_.”

“W-wait,” stammers Kurt, throwing his head back as Blaine’s hand finds his nipple. Blaine rolls the hardened flesh between his fingers, making Kurt cry out and shut his eyes at the spark of pleasure that shocks through him. “What about you?” He barely manages to get the last sentence out, shaking as Blaine’s fingers swirl over the sensitive skin.

All at once, Blaine’s fingers still. He pulls back, looking confused. “What about me?”

“Who have _you_ been with?” asks Kurt, feeling profoundly awkward with his shirt flung open and his cock still hard from Blaine’s attention, but soldiering on nonetheless. “I know you said you’ve never had a boyfriend, but I didn’t know if that meant...” He trails off at Blaine’s expression. “It only seems fair to ask you back, right?”

The curly-haired boy blinks. “Of course,” he says. Kurt wonders if they should change positions in order to have this conversation, but Blaine doesn’t seem inclined to move any time soon. “Well. I had my first kiss in grade nine at my cousin’s wedding; the son of one of the bride’s friends, I think. Jason.” He chuckles. “It was one of the things that got me wondering if maybe I wasn’t one hundred per cent straight. And in grade ten I went with my parents to Florence. They don’t really have a proper drinking age like we do – not one that gets enforced, anyways. So I snuck out and went to a club one night, and I met Giovanni. He was my age, and handsome, and didn’t speak much English. We... went out behind the club after an hour or two, and he gave me my first hand job. It was... nice. Nothing like I thought it would be, really. I’d had a bit to drink, and I didn’t know him very well. He was sweet, though.” Blaine gives Kurt a small, embarrassed smile before continuing.

“Then there was Jeremiah, which as you remember ended wonderfully.” Kurt snorts, and Blaine grins at him. “We kissed in his car after the second coffee date, and... I guess I thought it mattered more than it actually did. I can do that sometimes; build it all up in my head. But then there was Rachel and spin-the-bottle, and then... there was you. And I’ve had a few crushes in between, for sure. But Kurt... none of it matters. Not really. I’ve never felt anything for those people – not compared to what I feel for you.”

“I feel the same,” Kurt admits, feeling a broad grin spread across his face. His striped shirt is still hanging open, Blaine still pressing him up into the arm of the sofa. But it feels comfortable. Safe.

“Hearing about all this... it doesn’t make you upset?”

Kurt takes a moment to consider the question seriously. “A little? Not really, I don’t think. I know that I have you now, and that’s all that matters. Although it is nice to know about the people of your past – and that you feel stronger about me than you have about past crushes. I know that we both tend to fall embarrassingly hard, so it’s a real compliment.” A thought occurs to him, and he laughs out loud. “Oh, god. You should have seen me when I had a crush on Finn. It was soul-crushingly mortifying; I was a bit of a rabid basket-case.”

Immediately, Kurt knows he has said something very, very wrong. Blaine has gone completely stiff in front of him, and Kurt can’t quite identify the look in his eyes. His boyfriend’s hands fall from their resting positions on Kurt’s torso.

“Finn?” asks Blaine, voice hard and unreadable. Kurt winces at the way his lip curls slightly. “Your _step-brother_ Finn? Who lives in the same _house_ as you?”

“Blaine –”

“You had a _crush_ on him? How big a crush are we talking here?” Blaine stares fixedly at him, and Kurt can’t help biting his lip and glancing away. Blaine scoffs, disbelieving. “A big one, then. And you didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not –”

“It _is_!” Blaine pulls away from Kurt, scooting backward onto the main body of the couch. There is a look of betrayal on his face. “What is wrong with you, Kurt? What on earth made you think it was okay to exclude that little detail? You let me think that Finn was just some – some guy from school, when he was really –” Blaine breaks off, a sickened expression stealing over his dark features. “Did you _love_ him? Fuck, Kurt, do you _still_ love him?”

And it’s not true, but it’s too much, too close. Too awful. It’s all spiralling out of control, and Kurt doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to make it all better again. There’s a hollow feeling in the base of his stomach, and only minutes ago they’d been happy and laughing and kissing. Blaine had been stroking his fingers through Kurt’s hair. He wants to get back to that. Wants to go back to the moment of calm before he had to go and stupidly open his mouth.

Unthinking, Kurt leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, but his boyfriend jerks away. And _that_ hurts. Aches like a punch in the gut, makes him feel suddenly winded. Makes his eyes sting.

“Please, Blaine, _please_ ,” he can hear himself mumbling, blinking hard and not even truly aware of what he’s saying. Blaine won’t even look him in the eye, and that’s so scary so frightening _ohgodpleasedon’tleaveme_. “Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me. It’s not like that. He’s my brother. That’s all Finn is, okay? My brother. He would never – _I_ would never –” He breaks off, breathless. Blaine still won’t look him in the eyes. “Even when I had a crush on him, I never felt _anything_ like what I feel for you. I love you. Blaine, _please_.” His voice cracks on the last word. “I d-didn’t tell you because it was embarrassing, not because I still feel that way. I don’t. I don’t, I don’t, it’s only you, I promise...”

Kurt trails off, trembling, unable to look up at his boyfriend in case his eyes are still cold, untrusting, disgusted. Disgusted with _him_.

 _What was I thinking, I don’t – I can’t – oh, god. He’s going to leave me._

When Blaine’s arms wrap around him a few moments later, it is the most relieved Kurt has ever felt in his life. He clings to the back of Blaine’s shirt, gasping, and buries his face in Blaine’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I forgive you.” Blaine’s voice is comforting against his ear, but there is still a hint of dull frustration lurking in his words. Kurt shudders against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and one of Blaine’s hands begins to rub circles in his back. “I forgive you, Kurt. But you understand why it hurt so much that you lied to me?”

“I didn’t –”

His boyfriend squeezes him tighter, and he falls silent. “I know. But you intentionally didn’t tell me, didn’t you?”

Blinking furiously and lips pulled together in a thin line, Kurt nods.

Blaine pulls away slightly, and Kurt hears himself make a noise of frantic distress before his boyfriend shushes him gently. He grips Kurt’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing the blue-eyed boy to raise his head and meet his gaze. There is disappointment there, yes. Sadness. But there is also profound love, and the sight gives Kurt hope.

“We’re both new at this, and we’re both bound to make mistakes. But... I need you to tell me everything, okay? So that we don’t have misunderstandings like this anymore.” Blaine takes a deep breath, fingers still firm on Kurt’s chin. His eyes look directly into Kurt’s own. “Stuff from the past, if someone hits on you... everything. You can’t hide anything from me anymore, sweetheart. Does that make sense?”

Kurt nods emphatically. When Blaine pulls him forward into a kiss, Kurt returns it whole-heartedly. Pressing his lips against Blaine’s once, twice, three times while simultaneously rambling softly under his breath.

“Everything, I promise, Blaine. Love you so much.” Kissing his way down Blaine’s jaw, down his clothed chest. “Just let me... wanna touch you. I’ll make it so good, I promise.”

Blaine gasps. “Okay,” he breathes, hand reaching up and tangling in Kurt’s hair. “Okay.”

It only takes a moment before Kurt’s able to get Blaine’s fly undone, and in another instant he has Blaine’s cock in his hand. He’s hard, thick. Shockingly hot against the delicate skin of Kurt’s palm. They’ve done this a few times since the dorm room – not too many, since it’s hard to find time alone and Kurt is still nervous. But it’s never felt so important to make Blaine feel good before; it’s never felt so necessary.

Blaine groans as Kurt wraps his fingers tight around the shaft and he begins to stroke. Up and down, up and down, hard and fast. Seeking redemption. Forgiveness. Release. Kurt is better at this now than he was before, and he flicks his wrist every so often when it reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, drawing out long, broken exhalations. He can’t stop looking at his hand on Blaine, at first moving quickly before slowing to drawn-out, dragging strokes like Blaine showed him last time. His boyfriend gasps, body beginning to tense.

Suddenly, Kurt is jolted out of his trance – up and down, up and down – by the blunt pressure of two of Blaine’s fingertips pressing against his lips. He opens his mouth in surprise, and Blaine takes the opportunity to press them inside. Kurt gags for a moment, pace faltering, before re-establishing a quick rhythm. He looks up into Blaine’s face and sees it hazy with want and need and possession and _love_.

Kurt looks straight into Blaine’s eyes, doesn’t stop when his boyfriend begins to pump the fingers in and out between Kurt’s lips. Instead, he begins to suck on them, swirling his tongue around the tips and slicking them with spit. Blaine’s whole body tenses and his eyes flutter shut. Kurt re-establishes a quick speed with his hand, and his boyfriend’s lips fall open in shocked pleasure as his orgasm washes over him. The look on Blaine’s face is perfect, beautiful, and his fingers keep thrusting in and out of Kurt’s mouth as he comes in spurts over Kurt’s hand.

Eventually, the fingers still. Shuddering with aftershocks, Blaine breathes and trembles in front of him. One of Kurt’s hands is covered in rapidly-cooling come, and although he did try his best to keep any from splashing onto the sofa he isn’t entirely sure he’s been successful. But Kurt can’t look away from Blaine’s face to check. He has to know that it’s all right, that everything is okay again. His lips are still wrapped around Blaine’s fingers.

After a long moment Blaine pulls his fingers from Kurt’s mouth, eliciting small mewl from Kurt as he does so. He opens his eyes, and drags the wet fingers down the side of Kurt’s face. He looks... tired, and lazy, and content. Not angry at all.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice uneven and eyes full of affection. “That was... god, that was amazing. _You’re_ amazing, Kurt. I love you.” He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Kurt’s swollen lips. Then Blaine glances down between them and lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I suppose we should probably get cleaned up, huh? And maybe get some dessert. It’s not like we’ve even been watching, anyways.”

Kurt is confused for a second before realizing with a jolt that Blaine is referring to the movie. He glances sideways, and sees it still playing on the enormous screen. He nods. “Okay,” he says, and then hesitates. “Is... is everything—?”

“Yeah,” murmurs Blaine, kissing Kurt on the lips again. “It’s all fine; we just can’t keep secrets anymore, okay?” At Kurt’s nod he continues, a playful look coming to his face. “Now: how do you feel about some organic frozen yoghurt? And then we can go have a cuddle in my room before we have to go to sleep. After all,” he grins, “your dad does think we’re in separate rooms. We can spend the whole night together for once, tangled up in each other.”

Carefully cupping his hand to make sure to catch all of the white slickness, Kurt feels hot relief spread through him. He messed up, but it’s okay. They’re stronger than this; they can handle it.

“Sure,” he says, a small smile spreading across his face. “As long as it’s organic, I think I can be tempted.”

\--

Most of the time, things between them are wonderful.

\--

Next Thursday Kurt has a free block at the end of the school day, so he drives up to Dalton and spends the afternoon with Blaine and the other Warblers. Somehow, it’s even better than when they all actually attended the same school: Kurt is like some exotic explorer, bringing back tales from a far-off land to the crowd of wide-eyed young men in uniform. He feels fabulous and admired, the centre of attention.

They’re ecstatic to see him, too, eager to share school news and fresh funny stories from residence. Kurt’s old dorm mates clap him on the back, and Wes even goes in for an extremely awkward man-hug.

Sitting in the common area, Blaine slings loose arm around Kurt’s shoulder while they all talk and laugh, reminiscing fondly about days gone by. They talk about the upcoming Nationals, about the new Dalton cook’s questionable lunchtime delicacies, about the fact that McKinley’s Junior Prom is just around the corner. Blaine is insecure about so many things, and it is exhilarating to see him on his home turf again; confidant and vivacious, enjoying sharing the spotlight with him. His boyfriend looks at him with a mixture of pride and delight all night; like he’s _honoured_ to be with Kurt, to show him off to his friends. It makes Kurt giddy, exuberant. The stories he tells to the Dalton boys seem better-timed and funnier than usual, their reactions even more exaggerated. The playful barbs are wittier, and they all laugh harder.

It’s a fantastic evening, and when he kisses Blaine goodbye on the Dalton front doorstep he can’t stop grinning. Their kiss is sweet and interrupted by giggles, and Kurt isn’t sure of the last time he felt so happy.

Burt is even starting to really warm up to Blaine, too, and Kurt doesn’t really have the words to convey how imperative this is. He is fairly certain that Carole taking an instant liking to Blaine has something to do with his father’s change of heart. Every time Blaine comes over for Friday night dinner, Carole is completely charmed by the polite, well-groomed, charismatic young man her stepson is dating. She offers him third servings of dessert and frets over Blaine’s makeshift bed on the couch.

But every relationship does have its compromises, and Kurt is aware that he messed up badly with the whole Finn thing. Blaine is already aware of the whole Sam situation: he was at Dalton when Sam had made the awkward pizza delivery that had unintentionally revealed his secret. Nevertheless, Kurt is sure to keep his boyfriend ridiculously up to date, texting him seven times in fifteen minutes when he goes to the motel to give Sam some of his clothes. He knows Lima, after all, and knows how easily the rumour mill can be set abuzz.

They meet for coffee dates, and movie dates, and make-out dates. They skype or text goodnight every evening before bed. Prom gets closer and closer, and the prospect of actually being _with_ someone at the dance makes Kurt so happy he can barely talk about it without vibrating.

And if there is a tiny fraction of time when things between them get strained...

Every couple has its ups and downs. Kurt knows they’ll work through it.

\--

It really all starts to go to hell with Karofsky. Which is somewhat ironic, but mostly just consistent.

Since Santana and Karofsky had started their gut-churning ‘relationship’, Kurt’s former tormentor began to spend been gradually spending more and more of his free time in the glee practice room. Although this development had been met by strong protest by the rest of the club – which often included mimed fingers pretend-shoved down throats in expressions of distaste – Santana had convinced Mr. Schuester with a few well-rehearsed speeches about redemption, and mending bridges, and all of the crap that left him starry-eyed. Interestingly, Brittany was among the most vocally opposed to Karofsky’s presence. Not that her arguments made much sense, really, but it was remarkable enough to see her muster the wherewithal to actively dislike someone at all.

Kurt, although not exactly comfortable with Karofsky’s recent need to infringe on what should have been a safe place, takes the larger boy’s presence with a grain of salt. If having the jock around makes it less likely that any more of his Marc Jacobs and YSL shirts would be forever ruined from slushie tosses, he’s willing to put up with one more red-and-yellow dot on the landscape.

Kurt has spent most of the period sitting off to the side with his earbuds in, listening to _Ladies Choice_ from _Hairspray_ on repeat while simultaneously going over the sheet music in preparation for the audition tomorrow. Knowing Mr. Schuester the solo will go to Finn, but Kurt enjoys the irony of himself potentially singing such a heterosexuality-fest.

Plus, he knows for a fact that he looks fucking incredible in 1960’s menswear.

He’s on his fourth time listening through the song when he feels his phone buzz in the messenger bag at his feet. Kurt plucks it out, and reads.

 _French is not half as fun without you here! Mon nouveau partenaire a un accent terrible, et il ne comprend pas mon merveilleux jeux de mots français. Call me tonight!! - XoxBlaine_

The jab at Blaine’s replacement partner makes him grin privately to himself as he types out a quick response, making sure to toggle out often in order to get the punctuation correct. Blaine would probably never let him live down the embarrassment of even one misplaced cédille.

 _C'est vrai, je suis irremplaçable. Mais votre calembours français ne sont pas bons -- ils sont atroces. <3 - Kurt_

He hits the send button and breathes out long, contented sigh – before noticing that someone in a letterman’s jacket is striding purposefully toward him across room.

As a general rule, Karofsky keeps his distance when they happen to occupy the practice room together. Most days he sits dutifully next to Santana like a dog on a chain, perhaps glancing occasionally over at Kurt or the other Glee Club kids with resignation on his face. Not today, apparently. Kurt waits for the nervousness to flare within him at his former bully’s quick approach, but there is something about Karofsky’s posture that is entirely incongruous with attempting to be threatening. He chances a glance at Santana: she looks entirely uninterested in the scene unfolding in front of her, instead staring off in the direction of Brittany, Artie, and Puck conversing in a corner.

And then Dave Karofsky is standing right in front of him, big and brawny and looming over Kurt’s chair. He doesn’t look particularly imposing, though, somehow. Just... vaguely uncomfortable. Posturing. Kurt sees his mouth form words, but the Original Broadway Link Larkin is still singing in his ears – _hey, little girl lookin’ for a sale; test drive this American male._ He rolls his eyes deliberately at Karofsky, then pauses his iPod and plucks out his earbuds.

“Can I help you?” he snaps, feeling his lips thin and his posture get even stiffer. He really has no time for Karofsky and his pretending-to-be-straight, look-at-me-I’m-so-repentant shtick.

“Hey. Hummel.” The words are clipped, self-conscious. Karofsky seems to be attempting to look anywhere but at him. Kurt lets out a small, disgusted noise.

“Why are you talking to me, Karofsky? Aren’t you worried that someone will think you’ve caught “the gay”?” he asks, forming his fingers into exaggerated air-quotation marks.

Karofsky makes an aborted shushing gesture, looking around semi-frantically. “No, I am not – God, Hummel, why do you have to be such a –?” He shakes his head, then grabs a nearby chair and drags it over before sitting down in front of him. They sit glaring at each other for a long moment before Karofsky’s eyes flick down to Kurt’s phone and back up to his face. “That from your _boyfriend_?”

Anger, hot and hard, flares in Kurt’s chest. “As a matter of fact, yes, _Blaine_ did just send me a text message.” The emphasis on his boyfriend’s name is so strong Kurt almost spits the word out, and Karofsky winces. “Not that it’s _any_ of your business, by the way.”

“I really hate that guy,” Karofsky mutters, looking down at the floor.

Kurt learns in, his face curled in a sneer and carefully enunciating each word. “You only hate him, _David_ , because he tried to help you and you were too much of a coward to accept that. You only hate him because he knows that you’re –” Karofsky shoots him a terrified look, and Kurt backs off, sniffing. “Well. _Because_.”

“Look,” says Karofsky furiously, leaning in close. “I don’t hate him because of that, all right? I – I hate him because he’s a complete douche to _you_.”

The words shock the irritation right out of him, and he straightens up in shock. Kurt feels his eyes widen. “What?” he asks, dumbfounded. There’s a beat; he gives his head a shake. “I have no idea what you’re--”

“Last week when he visited you in here, he practically glued himself to your side. _And_ gave death glares to any guy who came within five feet.” Karofsky is speaking quickly now, leaning in conspiratorially. “Then, when you were in the bathroom? He went up to Mr. Schuester and started asking him all these questions about your _adjustment process_ , your _performance level_ since the transfer. I mean, who does that? How is that his business?” Karofsky shakes his head. “Look, H – Kurt. The guy gives me a case of the skeevies, okay? Sometimes, the way he looks at you is –”

“What is you _angle_ with this?” Kurt asks, words coming out slow and disbelieving. It’s a struggle to keep his voice low enough for the other glee kids not to hear. “Another way to mess with my head? Because for your information, Blaine is a perfect boyfriend. He’s thoughtful, and loving, and doesn’t _shove me into lockers so hard I get bruises for weeks_.” Karofsky’s lips thin at that, and Kurt feels a twinge of regret for reasons he doesn’t care to examine too closely. But it’s buried beneath a haze of fury and incredulity. “And whatever you think this little sabotage can accomplish? It can’t. Because I _Io_ —”

“I know this might be hard for you to believe,” Karofsky cuts him off, looking pained. “But I am actually not the jerk in this situation.” The jock stands up suddenly. He licks his lips, looks down at the ground.

He mutters something, almost inaudible, and Kurt is certain that he’s misheard when he thinks he hears Karofsky mumble, “I just want you to be happy, okay,” before he flees to the opposite side of the room. Back to his fake girlfriend, back to his comfort zone. Away from Kurt Hummel.

Kurt sits perfectly still for a long moment, not trusting himself to move. His hands are folded stiffly in his lap, and his back is ramrod straight. After a few minutes he checks his phone – and sees that Blaine must have texted him at some point during the... whatever _that_ was with Karofsky.

 _Oh, haha. Very funny :P I really can’t wait to hear your voice tonight, though. Your dulcet tones are one of many things I miss about you. Have fun at practice! - xoxBlaine_

Kurt lets out a shaky breath, the weight of the cell phone in his hand as comforting as Blaine’s words. He types off a quick response, and then starts to gather his things together. He doesn’t particularly want to sit by himself in the corner anymore, feeling Karofsky’s eyes burning on the back of his neck for the rest of the block.

 _Maybe ‘Cedes and Tina need some help getting ready for their duet,_ he thinks, and soon enough he’s able to force the previous conversation entirely from his mind.

\--

“ _Boom_! Head shot!”

Finn pumps his fist triumphantly into the air, letting out a loud whoop of victory. Beside him on the couch, Puck groans. The burly boy lets his Xbox controller fall onto his lap and buries his face in his hands. On the screen, a blue-armoured man made out of pixels pulses with electricity and then falls to the ground.

“C’mon, man, best three out of five,” whines Puck, looking slightly pathetic.

“No _way_! I just owned your ass, Puckerman. Don’t even try to convince me to go for another game.”

“Keep trying, Puck,” pipes up Kurt from the dining room table, where he and Blaine have their respective homework spread out like some sort of slithering monster made of textbooks and worksheets. He flips a page of his Literature textbook. “Eventually he’ll crack and you can get your rematch.”

“Hey!” squawks Finn, turning so he’s leaning over the back of the couch to glare at his step-brother. “You’re supposed to be on my side, dude.”

“Naw, Kurt just knows where the winning team is at. Puckzilla’s totally got this one in the bag.” Puck has both hands held up in the air in front of him, nodding, with an expression akin to that of the smarmiest used car salesman imaginable. Finn punches him on the shoulder, and the two of them begin to tussle on the couch.

Blaine is completely ignoring his homework, watching the boys slap each others’ hands away as though they are creatures on some sort of bizarre nature program. His thick eyebrows are drawn together in an expression of intense concentration, and it makes Kurt chuckle internally as he half-skims a paragraph on Robert Frost. _He’s certainly never had a brother_ , thinks Kurt absently. Before it hits him that, until recently, neither had he. Things have really changed in the last year, he realizes, glancing first to Blaine and then to Finn and Puck on the couch.

 _Young jocks in their natural habitat; tousling over their alpha status in the realm of shoot ‘em up games._

“All right, girls,” says Kurt, bookmarking and closing his textbook. “You’re both pretty.” He is trying to go for ‘snide’, but ends up edging into ‘affectionate’ territory instead. He stands and walks over to the edge of the couch nearest his brother’s friend. “Puck, didn’t you mention you had to head out by two?”

“Dude, you’re right,” says Puck, detaching himself from Finn and glancing up at the clock with a worried expression. “Lauren’s expecting me at two thirty. We’re going to watch porn together and make fun of peoples’ O-faces,” he adds, looking slightly lovesick. Kurt tries to hide his shudder of distaste. Puck glances up at him, and brown eyes all lit up and eager. “But I can totally hang around for a few minutes if you wanna play a round with me, though.”

“Kurt sucks at Halo, Puck. Hardcore.” Finn is looking at them with a mixed expression of fondness and caution. “I got him to play with me once. You know how shooting yourself is supposed to be some kind of impressive trick? Yeah, he managed it as soon as I handed him the controller.”

“Hey!” exclaims Kurt, pointing a long finger at his stepbrother. “I’ll have you know that those controllers are absurd and convoluted. Plus, you know I don’t see the point in trying to use little pixelated guns to kill little pixelated people.”

“That, Kurt my boy, is simply because you haven’t learned from the master.”

Puck pounces without another word, darting up over the arm of the couch and wrapping a strong arm around Kurt’s waist. Kurt lets out an undignified squeal as he’s hauled, flailing, to sprawl overtop of Puck on the couch. He glares up at both of the laughing boys.

If he is honest with himself, though, there is something deeply touching about how comfortable Puck obviously feels being close to him, with initiating contact. He, Finn, and Puck have so much bad history together. Cruel pranks, sharp words. They hated him for so long for being who he was, for being ‘sick’ and ‘gross’. For being a _fag_.

The ease with which Puck is willing to be both physically and verbally affectionate towards him says more about the progress they’ve all made in the past year than anything else possibly could.

“C’mon, dude, just give it a try,” wheedles Puck, one of his large hands reaching up and ruffling Kurt’s styled hair. Kurt huffs, and makes a show of resisting for a few more minutes before caving in. The three of them sit on the couch together, Kurt desperately attempting to figure out how to use the stupid controller, because _seriously_ , what _is_ this? He suspects that Puck goes easy on him, because it takes three whole minutes for his brother’s friend to utterly annihilate him. This is impressive, considering Kurt still hadn’t quite figured out how to make his character move forward.

Afterwards, Kurt throws up his hands in mock-outrage, and Finn punches his stepbrother lightly on the shoulder. It’s with a grin and a tiny fistbump that Kurt says goodbye to Puck at the door, while Finn remains seated on the couch and opens up another save file.

“Well, that was something,” says Kurt as he shuts the front door, unable to keep the small grin from his face. “Blaine, do you want to come upstairs to my room to study with me? The virtual blood and gore can’t be very good for our concentration.”

Blaine nods quietly, eyes downcast as he begins to gather their papers and textbooks.

Eyes still fixed on the screen and fingers flying over the controller, Finn calls out to them as they head upstairs with their piles of books: “Just remember that Mom and Burt are going to be home by four, you two!” Before immediately going back to killing virtual soldiers. Or possibly aliens. Cyborgs? Whatever those guys were supposed to be, anyways.

Blaine is silent for the short walk up to Kurt’s bedroom, but Kurt manages to fill the silence with chatter. As they walk inside, he’s animatedly discussing the importance of reading Burns aloud with a proper Scottish accent.

Once their stacks of books are safely atop Kurt’s desk and the door is firmly closed, Blaine sits down on Kurt’s bed. He’s looking down at the ground. When there is a break in Kurt’s happy chatter, he speaks suddenly and abruptly.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls last night?” Blaine’s voice is low and calm, but the question is such a non sequitur that it jolts Kurt right out of his babbling. Taking a closer look, Kurt realizes that his boyfriend is stiff with tension. Body strung like a taut wire, his fists clenched at his sides on the bedspread.

The hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck rise, and something tells him to be very, very cautious with his response. He schools his features into a self-effacing expression and lets out a small laugh. It sounds more brittle than he intends it to.

“I told you,” says Kurt, trying to catch his boyfriend’s eye. It’s a lost cause; Blaine’s gaze is fixed on a patch of carpet, looking at something only he can see. “I fell asleep with my phone still on silent. As my phone is also my alarm, you can imagine my distress this morning when I was practically late for school. I didn’t even have time for my moisturizing routine.” Kurt knows he’s rambling but can’t seem to stop himself. He wants to _do_ something with his hands; wring them, or tap out rhythms, or something. But he’s afraid that any such gesture would make him look suspicious.

 _Suspicious of_ what? _I didn’t do anything last night. So why do I feel guilty?_

“You’re lying.”

The words are not entirely unexpected, but they still _hurt_. The three simple syllables resonate throughout Kurt’s entire body, making him inhale sharply and wince.

“I’m not.” Kurt can hear the tremble in his own voice. He wants to will it away, but can’t seem to muster a steady tone. Wants to be the fierce bitch he acts at school – all sneer and bluntness and courage – but his hands won’t stop _shaking_. “I’m not lying, Blaine, I promise. I really did –”

“Stop _lying_ to me!” his boyfriend shouts, standing up from his position on the bed. He looks Kurt in the eye for the first time since they left the living room, and Kurt takes an involuntary step back. Blaine looks so _angry_ , eyes flashing and jaw held taught with tension. He looks betrayed, and _hurt_ , and absolutely furious. He lets out a sardonic, nasty little laugh that shoots straight to Kurt’s heart. “I can’t believe I actually... I _trusted_ you, Kurt. And – and you’ve been cheating on me this whole time?”

Every protest at Blaine’s unfairness rushes out of Kurt’s head all at once, leaving him lightheaded and stunned. “What?” he whispers, dumbstruck, voice tiny and fragile in the air. All at once Kurt feels incredibly young.

“Is it Puckerman?” asks Blaine, voice coming faster and louder. It occurs to Kurt that Finn won’t be able to hear them over the noise of his video game downstairs. “Were you with him last night while I was two hours away, worrying about you? Did you let ‘Noah’ take you in his big, strong arms and –”

“ _No_! Of course not, how could you even _think_ that?”

Blaine steps closer. Although he doesn’t physically touch Kurt, the movement makes him take another step backward. There is a small _thump_ as his back comes into contact with the solid bedroom door. Kurt draws his arms up defensively into a crossed position, eyes stinging.

“Did you let him touch you?” His boyfriend’s words are dripping with disgust, and he looks up and down Kurt’s body – folded in on himself, shaking – as though it is the most vile thing he has ever seen. “Did you let that jock have what he wanted for a few nice words and a pat on the shoulder?”

“Blaine, please don’t say that, _please_ –”

Intellectually, Kurt knows that Blaine is shorter than him. This doesn’t stop it from feeling as though Blaine is towering over him against the door, a pillar of righteous anger and betrayal. Blaine takes an unsteady breath.

“Was it Karofsky?” A sob catches in Kurt’s throat, and one of his hands flies up to his mouth to clamp across it. “You’ve always liked them big and beefy and dumb, haven’t you? Did you run when he kissed you because you liked it too much? And now you’ve gone back for more.”

“ _Nonononono_ ,” Kurt repeats into his hand, shaking his head frantically. There is no way to make Blaine’s words stop, to make his anger go away. Kurt can the tears begin to fall, running down his face; he can barely see Blaine anymore, his vision is so blurred.

“Or was it _Finn_?” sneers Blaine, and the words are so awful they knock the wind right out of Kurt’s lungs. “You still _love_ him. And then he came in here looking for some _brotherly love_ , and you gave it up so hard that –”

Kurt _wails_ , and shakes his head, and he’s breathing too fast, too hard, and he can’t stop. His hand flies away from his mouth, and he’s talking in a long, unbroken chain of desperate words.

“I didn’t, I didn’t, Blaine, _please. Please_ don’t say those things.” The words are dissolving into choked sobs. “B-Blaine, _please_ believe me. I would n-never do any of those that, I swear. I’d never cheat on you, I promise, I’m yours, just. Please stop _saying – I can’t_ –”

And then his speech is cut off by Blaine’s lips as they slam against his own, pushing him hard against the bedroom door. Blaine’s hands are tangled in his hair so hard it hurts, and his nose is so clogged from crying that he can’t breathe while his boyfriend violates his mouth, all gnashing teeth and salty tears. When Blaine finally pulls back, Kurt inhales sharply and stares in shock at the boy in front of him.

“Say it again,” says Blaine, then sweeps his tongue over Kurt’s trembling lower lip. “Say that you’re mine again.”

Kurt is still inches away from hyperventilating, the panting gasps wracking his chest almost painful. He looks straight into Blaine’s eyes and sees something uncertain there, something frightened and lonely. Kurt takes a controlled breath, willing his hands to steady, and then reaches up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek.

“I’m yours,” he says, not looking away. The words are tremulous, but genuine. Blaine growls in response and _kisses_ him again, until all Kurt can think about is Blaine’s lips on his. The mash of lips and tongue, the sharp pain of Blaine’s nails as they dig into his skin. The way Blaine shudders against him, hard and long.

When they finally break apart, there is a look of profound shame and regret on Blaine’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, leaning in again so that his lips can press gentle touches up the side of Kurt’s face, kissing the tears away. “I’m so sorry, angel. I just – I got so _scared_ , and I couldn’t – I couldn’t lose you, I –”

“I know,” says Kurt, and his voice is beginning to grow stronger again. “I know, Blaine. It’s all right.”

He gasps as Blaine pulls him into a tight embrace. His boyfriend buries his face in Kurt’s neck, drawing in ragged breaths. For a moment Kurt doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then, slowly, he wraps them around Blaine’s compact waist. Hugs him back. All at once he feels like the strong one, the brave one, as he holds his boyfriend close and lets him shudder into his shoulder.

They stand like that for a while, wrapped up in each other while Kurt rubs calming patterns into Blaine’s back. Before long, though, Blaine is pressing soft kisses against Kurt’s neck, his jaw, his collar bone.

“Kurt, will you let me...” Blaine trails off to suck gently at the delicate skin at the edge of his jaw, and Kurt cries out involuntarily at the sensation. “I know we haven’t before, but... I want to... will you let me...?”

His boyfriend pulls back and looks at him, an expression of regret and the desperate need for forgiveness on his face. Blaine’s eyes dart quickly down below Kurt’s waist, before flicking up again. He licks his lips. And Kurt is already hard, aching for Blaine’s touch – because by now, sex feels like redemption. As though the touch of skin on skin and the white heat of release will absolve them of the anger and pain that is still lying between them. As though it will make everything normal, and happy, and good again.

He nods. Blaine leans in and kisses him, whimpering into his mouth and holding Kurt tight.

As Blaine removes both of their clothes, peeling them off and dropping them to the floor where they lie like casualties of war, Kurt experiences everything vaguely, distantly. As though the sweet kisses and gentle brushes of fingertips are happening to someone else. He kisses Blaine back sloppily as he undoes Kurt’s dress pants and slides them down Kurt’s slender hips. When they are finally naked in front of each other –no barrier of clothes standing between them for the first time – Blaine leads them over to Kurt’s bed.

Blaine pushes him gently into a lying position, trailing barely-felt kisses down Kurt’s chest, his thighs. The look on his face is one of love, of worship when he finally takes Kurt into his mouth, wrapping his full lips around Kurt’s cock and sliding down as far as he can go. It makes Kurt close his eyes and gasp; makes him clench his hands in the sheets and _feel_ something again as he tries to stop himself from thrusting up into Blaine’s inexperienced mouth. Soon everything is the slow slide of Blaine’s lips around him. The sweet pressure when Blaine moves up to suckle the tip, the feeling of simultaneous power and powerlessness when Blaine gets too enthusiastic and gags around him before redoubling his efforts.

Kurt can hear himself making high, keening noises as Blaine’s mouth tightens around him, the gentle suction increasing into something needy and demanding. His eyes flutter open, and the sight of his boyfriend with his lips enveloping Kurt’s cock makes the sweet, hot pressure inside of him flare. Makes him gasp out of breathy, wanton sound as Blaine moves up and down, up and down, tongue occasionally swirling around him and making raw spasms of pleasure shake him all the way to his fingertips.

When the pressure becomes too great, the heat too intense, the pleasure _too much too bright too real_ , he lets out a choked warning, squeezes Blaine’s shoulder – but Blaine doesn’t pull away. Instead, he seals his lips tighter around Kurt, determinedly taking him faster, harder, deeper, and _ohgodohgodohgod_ –

And as Kurt comes hard, arching into the wet heat of Blaine’s mouth while his own lips fall open in a silent scream of rapture, it occurs to some barely-functioning part of his mind that this is what love is. It isn’t always gentle, or kind, or considerate.

Sometimes love is cruel. It can be hard and brutal and selfish in ways that storybooks and movies never talk about. But this – what lies between him and Blaine, connecting them as intimately as humanely possible – this is real. This is passion.

When Blaine leans up to kiss him a few moments later, his mouth tastes of the cloying musk of romance. Kurt kisses back and lets himself relax into Blaine’s grip, boneless and empty and entirely, irrefutably owned.

  
 **The End**


End file.
